


Fragile: Handle with Care

by eag



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Slavery, The Ace babysits, War Pup Talk, War Rig Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 03:24:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5031895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eag/pseuds/eag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate beginnings: Imperator Furiosa is tasked with transporting cargo from Bartertown back to the Citadel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragile: Handle with Care

**Author's Note:**

> Borrows some ideas from my main [series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/288167), but does not follow it. Different timeline, different situations.
> 
> Written for [War Rig Family Appreciation Week](http://war-rig-family-week.tumblr.com).

“I wasn't informed of this.” Furiosa's eyes wandered over to the girl, who was shivering so hard that her teeth were chattering. Her long, black shift was like a ragged shroud over her thin, bare shoulders, doing nothing to keep her warm. The girl wiggled her toes, sinking her bare feet into the pebbly gravel, and she kept her eyes modestly downcast.

“Neither were we.” The Ace shrugged, and handed her the promissory note, worn and weathered from hundreds of days folded up in a pocket. The merchant who had waved the Ace down paced anxiously behind the cordon of War Boys, wringing grasping, greedy hands. “But here's the note, with payment due upon delivery.” 

“He must have been waiting a long time for this one,” Furiosa said, scrutinizing the date written upon it and as she had guessed, it was over a thousand days ago, long before she was Imperator. 

“Could probably ask 'em to hold onto her til next run. Then we can pay in full.”

Furiosa considered it, but she looked at the girl again. Were those the smudges of healing bruises on her delicate wrists, on her arms and her legs? Many captives they transported had to be chained to prevent them from running, from fighting; there was something unsettling about the girl, how still she stood, how quiet she was...

“No.” Furiosa decided. “I'll pay the man what we can and give him a new note for next time for what we owe him. Then we'll be on our way.”

“Should we inspect the goods?”

“You're right.” Furiosa nodded, and she walked over to the girl who shrank from her questing eyes. Furiosa walked around; the shift clung awkwardly, asymmetrically to the girl's slender frame. Wind tangled her long dark hair, stirring the hint of a memory before disappearing even as Furiosa considered it.

“Seems fine to me.”

“Should we check for weapons?”

“I highly doubt that would be a problem.” Furiosa reached for the girl with her left hand, her mechanical hand, and the girl flinched away so violently that she nearly fell over.

“Could be puttin on an act,” the Ace suggested.

“Trust me on this,” Furiosa said dryly. “Get her on board; we're heading off within the hour. I'll settle the bill.”

 

There was no room in the hold; the entirety of the War Rig's hold was stacked to the ceiling with ingots of metal and industrial supplies for Gastown and the Bulletfarm. So the War Boys had logically stowed the girl in the next best place; down below the hatch where extra clothes and bedding were kept, a narrow crawlspace that sometimes doubled as a holding place for captives, if there was no room in the main hold.

Furiosa steeled herself as one of the crew slid a heavy chest over the trap; transporting human cargo in the crawlspace was the last thing she wanted to do, and she was resigned to hearing the girl's cries for the next three days as they made their way back to the Citadel.

With a sigh, Furiosa set the wheel and started the engine.

 

It was a few hours before Furiosa realized there was something wrong. 

It was utterly quiet. She had expected to hear the banging of fists against the claustrophobic steel enclosure, sobs and wails, pleading, perhaps...but it was utterly quiet, and all she could hear was the thrum of the engines and the whistle of the wind through the open windows.

Furiosa opened the top door and raised her right hand, gesturing. A moment later, she heard the thump of the Ace's weight as he landed on the roof.

“Boss?”

“Come and take the wheel for a moment; there's something I want to check.”

“Anything I can do?”

“No, just take the wheel.”

He came down through the top door and she jammed the throttle, sliding out from under the wheel as he steadied it, taking control of the rig. “What's going on?”

“Just checking on the cargo,” Furiosa said, unfastening the restraints and shifting the chest off the trap with a grunt.

“Sure, sure.” The Ace settled down behind the wheel, his eyes sharp on the road ahead.

 

Furiosa peered into the crawlspace but didn't see the girl. Shaking her head, she made her way in, carefully feeling ahead with her boots for trouble.

It was still clean down here, which was something of a relief. Sometimes in their fear, captives soiled themselves and it would take some amount of cleaning to get things back in order. But it was the usual pleasing warmth of the crawlspace, folded blankets stored off to the sides, tucked between the metal struts, and a few rolled up pairs of extra trousers that sometimes doubled as pillows. There was nothing more to it than the clean scent of linen and dust.

At least the crew had straightened the lining; rough-woven fabric that had been laid out to give the space some cushioning from the bumpy road.

“Hey.” As Furiosa's eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw the girl huddled away down the crawlspace closest to the outside door. The light that seeped in showed her tear-streaked face, and the tears that flowed ceaselessly, silently.

“Are you all right?” Guilt and shame, and there was a sick feeling deep inside of Furiosa's belly that clenched up cold.

The girl didn't answer, but reflexively curled closer in on herself as though she could disappear, were she able to shrink down far enough.

Furiosa shook her head; what did they think they were doing, sending a girl like this to be picked up when the crew was running the triangle? There was no preparation. If she had known ahead of time, she could have made plans to bring an extra lancer, one of the female War Boys, maybe Stonker or Kiley, and the girl could have ridden up in the back gunner's nest with the War Boy, or maybe as a passenger with one of the escort.

Briefly popping back out of the crawlspace, she called to the Ace.

“Ace, give me the A-C, will you?”

“Sure thing, boss.” Reaching behind himself, the Ace handed her the leather-bound bottle, and she ducked back into the crawlspace.

 

“Here. Drink some water.” Furiosa said softly, and made sure that she was using her right hand to give the girl water, keeping her left hand behind her so as not to frighten the child.

The girl shook her head.

Furiosa gave the bottle a little shake, and even over the growl of the engines she knew the girl could hear the slosh of water.

The girl licked her lips.

“It's safe.” Furiosa popped off the cap and took a sip to demonstrate, before handing it to the girl. “ Here. Have as much as you want”

The girl drank the water down thirstily.

“Ah, poor thing. They didn't even give you a drink before sending you off.”

“He didn't want to spare the water. He said you'd have plenty,” the girl said softly, and Furiosa was surprised; she wasn't even sure the girl could speak.

“What's your name?”

“Cheedo.” She said it softly, barely above a whisper, but Furiosa managed to catch it.

“Cheedo...” Furiosa shook her head. “The Ace isn't going to like this much but...all right, come on. Dry your tears and follow me.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

 

Furiosa helped the girl out of the crawlspace, and when the Ace heard the girl clambering out of the trap, he couldn't help but turn around to look.

“Any trouble?” Furiosa asked, as she took back the wheel.

“None at all,” the Ace glanced at the girl before giving Furiosa a skeptical look. “You sure about this?”

“Yes. Go up top and tell Morsov he's standing in for lead and come right back. I have a job for you.”

“Yes, boss.” And the Ace hauled himself up through the top door, his boots thudding briefly on the top of the cab as he made his way back up to give orders.

 

The Ace sat down directly behind Furiosa, the girl Cheedo to his right, where there were no weapons within her reach. With a sigh, he settled back into the seat and slipped off his goggles, letting them dangle around his neck. His gray eyes were bloodshot and he looked exhausted, his skew-set jaw weary.

Stifling a yawn, the Ace unclipped his shop cloth from his belt, and dampening it with a little water, began wiping his hands clean.

Cheedo couldn't help but stare, at his heavy muscles and his rough, whitened skin, at the scars of flames and war that ran over his arms and chest, and at the lumps on his neck. She backed up, pressed against the far side of the War Rig.

The Ace glanced at Cheedo, and looked down, focused on cleaning his hands. “Seems that it's best to have just a little dust on your palms when you're riding Lancer. Keeps your hands from getting too slick; sometimes when Lancers first start, no matter how good a grip they got, they have a bad habit of getting the sweats. That ain't a real problem on a rig like this where all the grips are lined, but if you're on a car with no lined grips, that could be a real problem. Specially since not all Drivers think about their Lancer's needs. Lucky for me, I never get the sweats, least not on my hands, but...well, if you need some dust, you can always get it off the cab by runnin your hands over it light. Not too much though; too much, you get a new problem of bein too slippery again. It's all about balance--”

“And weight distribution, and coordination,” Furiosa added, amused.

“And breathing. Don't forget your breathing.”

“Breathing through the nose, down into the belly. Deep slow breaths to calm down the engine of your heart and bring the rpm down. Helps keep the shakes off.”

“Good that you remember,” the Ace put his shop cloth away, clipping it to his belt.

“How could I forget? I can hear your voice in my sleep sometimes, telling me to watch my feet, to to keep an eye out for what I can use in a fight. Or what did you always say? 'Three limbs on the car at all times! Rule of three! You want me to dump you on your hindside again?'” Furiosa quoted, mimicking his raucous voice, and they both chuckled.

“Best of War Boys, my Furiosa,” The Ace nodded, and he glanced at Cheedo, who seemed to be breathing normally now, with slow, deep breaths, and was no longer so tensed up that it seemed that the slightest jostle of the War Rig would leave her shattered on the floor.

“Best of War Boys, the Ace, you mean.” Furiosa checked the mirrors absently; this was a long safe stretch, the safest by far of the run, when they were still in Bartertown's extensive territory. “You've been training Morsov to take your place, haven't you? I've heard talk.”

“Eventually. When this War Boy can't climb the rig no more, you'll need someone else riding crew lead.”

“I'm glad you're thinking ahead, Ace, but...it won't be for a while.”

“Probably not,” but the Ace touched the lumps on his neck lightly, covering them with his hand. “Probably not for a long time.”

“I won't allow it,” Furiosa said, mock-sternly. “No retiring for you, not any time soon.”

“Yes, boss. I'll do my best.” The Ace's expression grew wry.

“Now I believe there was some talk about food?” Furiosa reached below her seat and pulled out a cloth-wrapped package. The Ace drew his out of a deep, bulging pocket, and the two traded a food bar each.

“Here, one for you too.” And the Ace offered an additional bar to Cheedo, who took it hesitantly, plucking it off the cloth with a darting hand.

“Remind me to reimburse you, Ace.”

“No worries, boss. I brought extra.” And he took a bite, savoring it. He and Furiosa shared sips from his water bottle to wash the food down; the other bottle was still in Cheedo's hands, and she took little sips between bites of the crumbly, grainy food, sighing as her teeth crunched over nuts and chewed through bits of cooked, dried greens. There was a faint sweetness to the food that she could not quite place.

“Mmm. They made this batch with milk and mushrooms. That's always the best,” Furiosa said. “They don't often put milk in.”

“Walnuts too.” 

“Lucky. I didn't get walnuts. But mine had two bites that were mostly dried turnip. Good and crisp.”

“Mine was like that except it was pumpkin.”

“This one has a lot of carrots,” Cheedo said softly, and the Ace peered over for a look, his gray eyes warm.

“So it does. And lentils.”

“And bok choy.” Cheedo ate the rest quickly, swallowing it down.

“Good food for Lancers. Keeps your eyes sharp and your guts regular,” the Ace said. “Important to have good digestion.”

Furiosa handed the Ace her package of cloth-wrapped food bars. “Ace. Have her take another one, and take one for yourself.”

“Really?” Cheedo stared, unbelieving.

“Really. That's the order.” The Ace unwrapped the package of food bars, and Cheedo's eyes widened at the sight; there were so many.

“Thank you.” Cheedo whispered, and took another one. The Ace took one carefully and wrapped it back up with his own bars, tucking them away for later.

“Course you won't be hungry again, not where we're going.” The Ace nodded, folding up Furiosa's dried food store tightly and leaning down to place them carefully under the Imperator's seat where she kept many of her things. “You'll be taken care of. Won't have to worry about being hungry or thirsty, and ain't no Buzzards or Bandits can climb up to where we live. It's a good life, better 'n most out here.”

“What kind of life is it?” Cheedo listened as she ate.

“Lotta work, but that's for us War Boys. You, you'll be livin the high life. Up in the Immortan's Tower, high above the rest of us.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Well, sure. Seems like a good deal as any. Never been over there myself to see what it's like, but I heard everyone's fed good, and the breeders wear pretty clothes and never have to lift a finger. They get their supper no matter what, not like us War Boys. We gotta earn our keep; no work means no supper.”

Furiosa drove silently.

“Breeders?”

“Yeah, for the Immortan Joe.”

“Ace.”

“Boss?”

“Can you check on the crew? I want to be sure they're done eating before we start heading into the dunes.”

“Sure thing, boss.” The Ace got up and opened the door, letting himself out. He closed it behind him politely.

 

“Ace doesn't know any better.” Furiosa's eyes fixed on the road, at the long dusty trail that cut through the waste, and Cheedo found herself leaning forward to hear Furiosa. “Like he said, he's never been over to see it himself.”

“Have you?”

“I started there.” Furiosa said, her eyes fixed on the horizon. “I was one of the girls. A breeder.”

“And now you're an...Imperator? How did that happen?”

“Not overnight, if that's what you were wondering.” Furiosa glanced briefly at the metal hand that weighed her down, and rested it against the sill of the window, her elbow resting on the lip of leather that the crew lead hung onto. “But your life will be fine if you keep him happy.”

“Who?”

“The one who owns all of the breeders and all the War Boys. Im-Immortan Joe.” And Furiosa found herself scowling, as though saying the name pained her physically.

“How do I do that?”

“I can't tell you. If I could, I wouldn't be here.” Furiosa said, and just then, the thump of the Ace's landing on the top of the cab meant that there could be no more said about it.

*****

Furiosa glanced at the dials, the sun, and the horizon. It would be two hours before the sunset and then moonrise wouldn't be for another three hours after full dark. Without the bright light of the moon, they couldn't navigate, so she shifted to a higher gear, slowly accelerating, pacing the War Rig to time the run so that they would be in a safe resting place by the time darkness fell.

Checking the mirrors, she could see the many vehicles of the escort modifying their pace as she did, kicking up plumes of dust as they cut through the waste.

“Boss, seems to me that she's bout the right age for a War Pup.”

“Oh?” Amused, Furiosa glanced back at the Ace.

“Maybe a little old, but not much older than Slit was when he started.”

“Maybe, but you have to take into account horsepower.”

“Ah, you'd think that, but I got an eye for a good Lancer.” The Ace winked at Cheedo. “Seems to me she'd ride high-octane, given training and half the chance.”

“Sorry Ace, but I'm not sure I see it. I'd guess maybe 50, 60 horsepower,” Furiosa said honestly.

“Nah, some pups seem low-power at first, but they got got hidden reserves, like a car with a backup tank. Might not look like much now, but some day she'll show her true pace, and we'll all be surprised at how many seconds she can put between her 'n the Buzzards.”

“What's a War Pup?” Cheedo asked, curious.

“A little'un like you,” the Ace explained. “Most of 'em do odd jobs round the Towers, but sometimes we pick out a few promising ones and train 'em special. Train 'em up to be Lancers, to ride into battle, and maybe even a Driver someday.”

“The Ace is the best trainer we've ever had,” Furiosa explained. “Of his War Pups, one's an Imperator, one's training to be crew lead, one's a Driver, and the others are full Lancers with permanent rides.” 

“Is that a good thing?”

The Ace chuckled. “It's a point of pride, Cheedo. They'll pass their training down the line someday, if I'm lucky. So the skills I taught won't be lost.”

“You have a lot of children.”

“Huh?” The Ace looked at her, curious.

“The War Pups. They're your sons? And...daughters?” Cheedo glanced between Furiosa and the Ace, trying to puzzle out the resemblance.

“Cheedo.” Furiosa paused to consider her words. “None of the War Boys are fathers.”

“So he's not your dad?”

“No. He's-- That is, the Ace is just... Well, he's the Ace.” Furiosa struggled, at a loss for words. “The crew lead. A trainer.”

“A half-life War Boy. And a Lancer on the War Rig,” the Ace added. “Ain't none of 'em my own flesh 'n blood, but all of 'em are my children.” 

Furiosa blinked, glad they couldn't see her expression, and nodded. “Yes. I'd say that's an accurate assessment. Ace, am I the oldest?”

“Seems that way. Oldest of the batch I trained, anyhow. Maybe by a hundred days or so. Makes Morsov your little brother, don't it?”

Furiosa laughed. “I can't imagine what he'd say about that.”

“Can't imagine what he'd say about the thought of havin me as a dad,” the Ace chuckled. “He's not one for fathers.”

“No. Most of them aren't.” Furiosa said thoughtfully. “We should never tell Slit.”

“No, he certainly wouldn't appreciate it.”

“Who's that?”

“Oh, a War Boy. Him 'n Nux are like two peas in a pod, if one pea was hard and spicy, and the other fresh and green.”

“How does that...?”

Furiosa smiled to herself. “Ace, you're confusing her.”

“Then let me tell you a story, Miss Cheedo. Once upon a time, there were two little War Pups in a row, Nux and Slit. Nux was the smaller one and everyone called him 'Little Nux'...”

 

When Cheedo woke it was dark, and the War Rig had stopped. She was curled up on the leather-bound seat; it was luxuriously comfortable compared to sleeping on a rush mat on the hard packed-dirt floor of the slave quarters.

Someone had put a blanket over her and had tucked her in; when she ventured a bare foot out beyond the confines of the blanket, the air was cold, and she could hear the icy wind of the open waste rattling the panes of the windows.

She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders tightly; it was hard to see out the front as the glass was strangely obscured, opaque, and so she opened the door, peering out from around the door frame.

Cold air rushed in, tangling her dark hair, and she could smell dust on the breeze.

Furiosa and The Ace were perched on the hood of the rig, a glowing lantern between them, and they were feeding coolant into the engine. They spoke softly as they worked, but both turned to look at her when the door creaked open. 

“Cheedo. It's okay. We're just giving thirsty engines a drink of water. Sleep. Get some rest.” Furiosa said gently.

“Too cold out here for a little pup like you. Time to stay warm and bed down for the night,” the Ace added, and despite his bare chest, he didn't shiver even as the night wind kicked up.

“Okay.” But Cheedo paused for a moment, as if waiting for something.

The moon had not yet risen. In the darkness, she heard her own breathing, the hissing of the water on the engine, and the low voices of the War Boys as they perched upon their cars and atop the tanker. Looking around, she could see their individual lanterns scattered all around the War Rig, glowing amber in the darkness.

The long shadows of the War Boys on guard stretched long across bare stone.

She heard a little burst of laughter as someone told a joke, but it died out almost as soon as she had heard it; it almost seemed as though she had merely imagined it.

Softly, she could hear a hum in the darkness, the deep voice of the night, and then a handful of War Boys broke into song.

She strained to hear the words, but they were too far away, or perhaps the wind was taking their voices away, dragging them into the waste.

Cheedo looked up at the sky and suddenly realized she had never been outside Bartertown and had never seen so many stars before.

There were too many lights in Bartertown; it was impossible to see more than a handful of stars, but here, set in the blue-black sky were countless stars burning like distant, tiny lanterns. Some of them were even faintly colored, polished pebbles strewn carelessly by a great celestial hand.

The stars seemed almost close enough to touch, and she reached out to the sky as if she could catch a handful of bright sparks and hold them to her heart, sizzling and sputtering.

“Look!” A single star dashed brightly across the night sky, blinking as it flew past, and she waved to it as it sailed in stately solitude, floating across the night sky. She tracked it with her eyes, but it disappeared quickly beyond the horizon.

Cheedo wondered if she would ever see it again.

It seemed that no one else had heard her, so she closed the door behind her, shutting out the night air. Wrapping the blanket tightly around her shoulders, she lay down and closed her eyes, drawing her cold feet close.

In her dreams, the War Rig once again sprung to life and took her onward, eastward, to her new life raised up high, lifted up off the waste.


End file.
